#GoyoAngstStories
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Restless (A “GOYO: Ang Batang Heneral” one-shot)
They said that his soul was finally at peace; the very reason that the only thing that everyone who've hiked Tirad Pass as tourists had felt was the futility of the action. But, what if, his soul remained wandering? Just waiting for the right person to help him moved on and finally rest in peace?
The entirety of this trip was actually her friend’s idea. Her best friend told her that if she wanted to be away from the city life and the stress of being the heiress to their family business for a few days, then she better come with her on her small hometown in Ilocos Sur, just on the other side of the tourist destination of Mountain Province. And she was somehow glad that she came with her for the tranquility and peace; but for her last trip today, she didn’t expect that she’ll wake up early to take a walk outside. After all, the past two days had been stressful with all the treking and added history.
It was indeed different. The province life somehow hit her quite hard. Dagupan was already a bustling city in comparison to this. But her childhood mirrored a province as peaceful as this, before she finished College and was brought to the reality of their family business’s hub at Manila. Or perhaps, she’d been walking around a bit than intended in a place that she was unfamiliar, making her realize that there was an aching peacefulness in the air. After all, she’d succeeded in asking her father not to assign bodyguards for her. If she did, she’ll not enjoy these things at all.
She took a moment to take in her surroundings, and sure enough, she was already hiking up the mountain once again. The same spot she did a few days ago. A beautiful but lonely one. The air it carried from the upslope has a cold sensual tranquility, as if holding a history far darker than the tall weeds sprouting from the ground.
No one was around. The lack of people made the silence even more apparent against where she stood now. And everything was peaceful and a little bit wistful.
She sighed heavily, just on time for a flash of white to catch her gaze. She blinked once and turned to look on at the trail up ahead her once again. What really got her attention, however, was the man standing right ahead of her. He was wearing a khaki uniform that almost blended too well with the weeds, but it was his rumpled dark hair that really made him stand out and the gold medals he has.
Weird, she thought. Nandito ba siya all this time?
She was still staring at him when he turned. His eyes widened the moment that their eyes met one another, and it took everything in her not to look away from him. She froze in place at the intensity of his stare. After all, it was the first time she’d seen someone’s eyes to bright as gold as that of his.
“Ikaw,” he said, his voice deep and commanding. “Nakaikita mo ako?”
“Uhm, oo?”
His mere presence was intimading but there was a gentleness on how few his words were. He looked relieved as he spoked again, “Ah, m-mabuti. Sa wakas...”
Or perhaps, something made her stay than to run away screaming when she finally noticed the blood on his cheek and neck. It was a horrible wound that in a red hue, she could actually swore that she could see his teeth and the inside of his mouth. But instead of screaming, she reached out to him in an attempt to hold him. “T-Teka... na paano ka? ‘Di lang ‘yan basta-bastang—”
But when she did, she could only blanch. Her hand went right through his arm as if he were an apparition. She saw her fingers stick out of his sleeve, and she pulled her hand back as quickly as she could. Only now that she scrambled to get away from the man—or whatever the hell he was.
“T-Teka lang! ‘Wag kang tumakbo, ‘di pa ako tapos!” the man—thing—yelled at her.
She was already running back to where she came from, down the startup of the trek, but in a flash of almost inhuman speed, he was standing in front of her again, arms outstretched. She was shaking in fear, wondering how he had done that.
Realizing that what made her truly ran was the horrible mess of his wound, he turned away that only the good part of his face would be visible to her. He looked sad and desperate when he mumbled, “‘Wag kang tumakbo palayo sa akin. Nagmamakaawa ako. ‘Wag kang matakot. Hindi naman kita sasaktan.”
Any sane person would bolt it right about now. But, she couldn’t. She wasn’t sure if it was due to her fear, or it was something else, that made her remain on her spot. Perhaps, because it was her first time to have an encounter with this... kind.
The man finally relaxed and sighed heavily, keeping the half view of his face away from her. “Sa tingin ko ay kailangan kong magpaliwanag sa iyo, binibini.”
“Tungkol saan?”
“Lahat ng ito.” He pointed at the broken side of his face. “At maging tungkol dito.”
She flinched back when he tried to reach for her, only to have his hand went through her shoulder. She frowned, asking, “A-Ano... ano ka ba?”
“Patay na ako.”
“Excuse me?”
He raised an eyebrow at her, unsure of her words but he repeated himself. “Patay na ako. Buhay ako dati, pero... mukhang nakatali pa rin ako rito. Pagala-gala. Walang maalala kung sino ako, o paano ako napapunta rito.”
She rubbed her eyes, wishing that all of this was just a dream. But the ghost remained right in front of her. She resigned to this one, sighing. “Wala ka talagang maalala?”
“Wala. Ang alam ko lang ay matagal na akong patay.” He pressed a hand onto his wound, though as gently as if he couldn’t accept that it was present, and added, “Dahil dito. Walang duda na dahil dito.”
“Hindi ko alam kung anong gagawin ko para makatulong sa iyo...”
“Ikaw ang unang tao—ang nag-iisang tao—na nakagawang makita ako. Ginawa ko na ang lahat ng paraan para mapansin ako ng mga taong napaparito pero walang nangyari. Walang nakakakita sa akin. Walang nakakarinig. Maliban sa iyo.”
Lord naman, she wondered. Bakit ako pa?
“Gaano katagal... ka nang ganito?” she asked instead.
He closed his eyes for a moment. “Matagal-tagal na rin. Ang hirap alalahanin ng mga panahon. Siguro ay mga higit isang daang taon na rin.”
She was still trying to come to terms with the fact that she was either speaking with an actual ghost, or she really was slowly going insane from overwork. But he didn’t look like he was lying at all. If anything, he looked genuinely desolate. Something in that expression made her heart stir with pity... and longing?
“Sa palagay ko ay di ako matahimik dahil sa mga bagay na nakalimutan ko.” He raked a hand through his hair with one hand, all the while keeping his other onto the horrible mess of his cheek. “Kaya kailangan ko ang tulong mo para maalala ko kung ano man iyon.”
She bit her lower lip. She almost laughed at the proposition that she was to help a wandering spirit of a hundred years for something as silly as that. But then, she couldn’t say no at all. Something inside her wouldn’t let her to. “Look, kahit gusto ko man na tulungan ka, di ko alam kung anong magagawa ko para makatulong,” she said. “I’m sorry, pero sa tingin ko, di kita matutulungan.”
Immediately, the man’s face fell at her rejection, and she suddenly feel guilty of her words.
“...Totoo. Wala nga akong maibibigay na kabayaran, pero...” He lifted his face to look at her again. He looked to be at the end of his wits, begging. “Ikaw lang ang maaring makatulong sa akin ngayon. Kahit ikaw lang—pakiusap... ‘wag kang umalis.”
Sana na nga lang ay hindi ko pagsisihan ito sa huli, she thought as she finally nodded at him. “...Kahit papaano, naalala mo ba kung ano ang pangalan mo?”
He shook his head. “Hindi. Wala talaga akong maalala. Ang alam ko ay iba na ako ngayon kumpara noon.”
“Hmm... kailangan nating bigyan ka ng isang pangalan. Hindi naman kita pwedeng patuloy na tawagin na ‘uy’.”
His eyes perked up, hopeful in a flash. He moved closer to her, and she didn’t flinch back this time. “Talaga bang tutulungan mo ako?”
She gave him a rueful smile. “Hindi naman kita magagawang palayasin, ‘di ba?” Maybe she’s really insane right now, but she couldn’t think of him as ‘otherworldly’ when he looked so ‘human’. Lost, tired, and painfully human.
“...Goyo,” he said, breaking her reverie.
“Sorry?”
“Pwede mo akong tawagin sa pangalan na iyon habang wala pa akong maalala. Nakita ko na naka-ukit ang pangalan na iyon dito. Hiramin ko na lang pangsamantala.”
She thought it was funny that he had the audacity to borrow another person’s name, but, for some reasons, she knew that the name suited him more than it did anyone else. She tested his chosen name, making the name tumble every now and then inside her head.
Goyo.
The car ride back home was a little awkward. Her best friend was leaning against the window; meanwhile, the ghost—Goyo, she reminded herself—remained seated on the passenger seat, unsure of how to act in a moving and close vehicle as this. She was still getting used to the fact that only she could see him, so seeing his form phase in and out was still pretty bizarre.
However, the strangest thing of all was his idea of tagging along with her all the way back home.
“Kailangan kong manatili sa tabi mo kung talagang gusto nating makakita ng progreso,” he told her.
“B-Bakit? ‘Di ba pwede na magkita tayo once a week or something?”
“Hindi maari. Kung talagang babalik sa akin lahat ng alaala ko, kailangan kong manatili sa tabi mo. Sasayangin ko lang ang oras ko ng walang ginagawa rito at hintayin kang bumalik.”
“Totoo iyon, pero... alam mo na may buhay rin ako. May trabaho. ‘Di ko maaring ibale-wala lang iyon para dito.” Actually, she could. Her father was still the one who managed the company, but she hated the idea that she was simply the heiress to such a prestige company name.
“Kung ganoon ay magkaroon tayo ng kompromiso. Sasama ako sa iyo hanggang bumalik ang mga alaala ko.”
“Ano?”
“Iyon lang ang natatanging paraan para mapadali ito.”
She knew that it was pretty demanding, but the guy had a point. She just wished that his conditions will not force her to sacrifice her daily living, at least. She sighed heavily, conceding, “Sige. Fine! Pero may dalawa akong kondisyon.”
“Ano iyon?” His look was challenging, almost smug even. He looked thrilled, somehow.
“Una, ‘wag mo ako kausapin kapag nasa publiko tayong lugar. Magmumukha akong baliw kapag nakita nila na kinakausap ko ang sarili ko.”
“Naiintindihan ko. Yung pangalawa?”
“Kailangan ko rin ng... privacy.”
He frowned. “Ano?”
“Uhm... tipong oras para sa sarili ko? Kaya ‘wag ka bigla-biglang magpapakita sa akin ng walang anunsyo. Lalo na kapag ako ay nasa kwarto ko.”
It took a few seconds before he realized what she actually meant and he nodded. “Naiintindihan ko.”
After dropping off her reasonably exhausted best friend back at her place, she trudged back on her own. Goyo still floating beside her. It was stil somewhat jarring to picture a floating man next to her, but she supposed weird things happened to everyone at point. And this was hers.
“Kakaiba na ang inyong mga sinasakyan ngayon,” he spoke, breaking the silence. “Akala ko’y mga tren lang ang mayroon.”
“Madami nang nagbago sa nakalipas na higit isang daang taon, you know? Kung dati ba’y puro kalesa at kabayo, well... mayroon pa rin naman pero ‘di na iyon yung main mode of transportation.” It was almost like speaking to an old man—a dead, strangely attactive, and young-looking man.
They finally reached her apartment at the penthouse of a known residential building, and before she could even unlock the door with her key, Goyo phased through her front door like he owned the place.
“Hoy! Hindi ka pwedeng basta-basta lang pumasok sa bahay ng may bahay!” she yelled at him, but Goyo didn’t seem to care.
“Bahay ito? Isang malaking kwarto lamang naman ito.” Goyo hovered around, noting the placement of the appliances and picture frames lining the table. He was pretty inquisitive for a ghost.
“Ordinaryo na ganito lang ang laki ng isang apartment or condo.” This is actually not; perhaps for her who’ve grown from riches. “Siguro tumira ka sa isang mansyon para magkaroon ng ganyang kaisipan,” she explained to him, not saying that she understands what he meant. This place of hers right now in the city may be the most expensive and the best there is, but this is still nothing compared to her family’s home back in Dagupan.
She then spent the next few minutes trying to get all her things in order, trying not to be bothered by her ghostly companion asking an onslaught of questions about her TV, laptop, toaster, and others. “Goyo, maghunustili ka muna. Look, alam ko na sinabi ko na tutulungan kitang maibalik ang memorya mo, pero di ba pwedeng magpahinga muna ngayon? ‘Di ba ito makakapaghintay bukas?”
He didn’t look pleased but he conceded anyway. “Wala naman akong magagawa kung bukas tayo magsisimula. ‘Wag mong kalimutan ang pangako mo.”
She made her way to her room and drew an invisible line to stop him from following her inside. “Naalala mo? Oras ko?”
He smiled with confidence. If it weren’t for that ugly mess of his cheek, she would say that he was absolutely handsome. “Natatakot ka ba na may makita ako na di ko magugustuhan?”
She rolled her eyes before closing the door and plopping down on the bed.
The whole day was probably just a dream—an odd dream that felt achingly familiar even in its utter strangeness.
She woke up the next day, groggy and mildly disoriented from the night before. Half of her was expecting the ghost outside her door to just be a product of her overworked mind and obssession with TV dramas. But when she opened her door, she was met with the sight of Goyo lounging on her living room floor, stretching around like a cat who owned the place. Not a dream, indeed.
“Tanghali na,” he said. “Ang tagal ko naghintay para magising ka.”
“Masisisi mo ba ako? Ang makakita ng multo ay hindi parte ng daily schedule ko.” She sighed. “Anyway, alam ko na sinabi ko na tutulong ako pero wala talaga akong alam kung paano ako makakatulong.”
Goyo scratched his head, learning the habit of keeping only his good profile for her to see while keeping the other way from her view. “Pinipilit ko rin alalahanin, pero wala talaga akong maalala. Iniisip ko na ang prisensya mo ay makakatulong.”
She pulled up a notepad and a pen, and began to write down all she knew about Goyo. All the way from being more than a hundred-year-old spirit, to a death by an exploded cheek. Not a very good start, but it was something than nothing.
“Ano ‘yang sinusulat mo?” He flaoted over to peek at her notes.
“Kung ano ang nalalaman natin as of now,” she answered. “May naalala ka ba tungkol kagabi?”
“Hmm... sa totoo lang, nagmasid-masid ako sa labas kanina noong tulog ka pa. Masyadong... kakaiba ang lugar.”
“Gaano kakaiba?”
Goyo began to detail how he’d never seen such gigantic structures side-by-side. According to him, everything was fast, metal, gigantic and loud—not to mention the sheer amount of people walking around the area.
“May nakita ka ba na pamilyar? Isang lugar o bagay?”
“Wala. Sa tingin ko, yung lugar kung saan ako nagmula ay ibang-iba dito. Konting tao at madaming palayan. May ilog na dumadaloy malapit sa bundok patungong laot. Mga kabayo.” He closed his eyes to think. “Mga espada at mga baril at mga kanyon.”
She jotted down more notes. Walang ideya sa modern tech. 100 years or more ago. Revolutionary era? She bit her lower lip for a second. Horses, fields, swords, guns and cannons. Haciendero? Ilustrado? Sundalo?
“Goyo, naalala mo ba kung paano gumamit ng baril?” she inquired.
“Anong ibig mong sabihin?”
“Sabi mo, may mga espada, baril at kanyon noong panahon mo? Maybe, gumamit ka ng isa sa mga iyon dati? Parang ganito ba?” She tried to replicate what she’d seen from the old revolutionary movies. She tried to handle an imaginary rifle and pointed it at an invisible target. Her attempt must be clumsy, if Goyo’s unamused expression was an indication.
“Mali ang pamamaraan mo,” Goyo criticized, his brows furrowing. “Dapat ay sinisigurado mong makakayanan mo yung pag-putok ng bala sa hawak mong baril. Parang ganito.” He stood up and gave her a demonstration. He drew his imaginary rifle and masterfully executed how like some sniper does. The way he did it looked so natural, graceful even, like he’d been doing it his whole life. Maybe it wasn’t a bit of a stretch to assume that he was a soldier.
“Tignan mo nga naman.” She smiled at him. “Naalala mo ang isa sa mga pinakamahahalagang parte.”
His eyes widened in realization. “Tangina, oo nga!”
Since then, he repeated his actions as he imagined then that there was an enemy right ahead to shoot at. She then wondered if he was skilled enough to be a marksman, he’ll certainly be part of the ranks, for he certainly looked the part. Bloodstained ghost he was, she could still see that he was absolutely toned and good looking.
“Libreng-libre lang naman talaga tumitig sa akin,” he teased, smirking at her.
She had to clear her throat to hide her blush. Looking away, she said, “Uhm... anyway, sa tingin ko ay may progress tayong na-achieved today. May trabaho pa rin ako bukas, so titignan ko kung anong magagawa ko pagkatapos.”
Her best friend noticed that she wasn’t getting enough rest. True, for she had stayed up all night googling the entire history of the Philippine revolution to see if it might help Goyo somewhat. He was insistent that she showed him every single picture she could find—hence the sheer number of tabs she had opened last night. Fortunately, for them, he was able to remember some things, albeit little by little. She didn’t reveal too much, even if she was accused of having a boyfriend among all things; and the first thing she remembered was the ghost’s face. But the ghost in her apartment would be her secret and no one else’s.
Goyo had taken a strange obsession with the television—the evening news and action dramas, to be specific—so tonight was one of the nights she flipped through the channels for him.
“...Ayon sa mga pulis, kahit tanghaling tapat ay nagawa pa ring gawin ang krimen,” the newscaster announced, blurred photos of the victim flashing on the screen. “Maaring isang hitman ang may kagagawan, pero sinasabi ng pamilya na wala naman silang alam na—.”
“Lagi na lang may kasamang ganyan ang mga balita,” she spatted. “Bakit mahilig kang manuod ng ganito, Goyo? Lahat ng bagay sa evening news ay nakaka-depressed or nakaka-disappoint lamang.”
She expected a snarky reply from him, but was met with nothing. When she turned to face him, his eyes were glued to the screen, completely focused on the blurred picture of the deceased.
“Goyo?”
He was still catatonic. Her words practically bounced off his ears as he kept watching the news.
“Hoy, ayos ka lang—”
“Mag-tatanghaling tapat din iyon,” he spoke, as if in a trance.
“May naalala ka?” Her tone grew frantic. The news must have triggered another memory, though this time, she knew that it wasn’t a pleasant one.
“Tahimik na parang walang umaasang mangyayari iyon. At pagod na pagod na ako. Tapos umalingawngaw ang putok ng baril. At... at iyon na,” he said.
Noon, and a gunfire. If she was right, then Goyo must have died with those parameters. It would explain that the bullet hit his cheek, causing that disfigurement. She imagined all the gruesome thoughts his death entailed. How cruelt it must’ve been, to perish that way.
His eyes were glazing over in muted recollection, and she was almost tempted to hug him were she able to. Instead, she settled for stroking his back—or at least, trying to. Her hand went through his ghostly form, but she still continued. The light returned to his eyes when he noticed that she was attempting to comfort him.
“Pasensya na,” she told him.
“Para saan? Wala ka namang ginawang mali.”
“Iyon na nga. Pasensya na wala akong magawa kundi ito lang,” she added, continuing to stroke his outline in a gesture of comfort.
He looked wary at first, but his expression then melted into resignation. Both of them sat together like that in silence, the atmosphere too heavy for any of their usual talk.
After that day, it was as if Goyo withdrew into his own shell.
He’d gotten a lot quieter as of late, either opting to wander around the city or silently stare holes into her apartment. Hed also stopped pestering her about getting his memories back. It felt unsettling seeing him so pensive when he was normally so pushy all the time. She almost missed their little spats together.
A part of her knew she would be happy at him regaining a good number of his important memories back, but the weary look on his face convinced her otherwise. The news must have brought back something he didn’t want to remember.
On some days, he’d come back home from exploring, and she would give up altogether on asking him if he recovered some of his memories. His exhausted expression said it all—he looked like he had just returned from a war.
However, if she had to pinpoint what unnerved her the most, it was when he watched her eat one time.
“Naiilang ka ba na may nakatingin sa iyo kapag kumakain ka?”
“Well, ‘di lang ako sanay,” she answered.
“Dati, may tinignan din akong kumain sa pangarap lamang na masilayan ang kanyang mga mata,” he remarked. “Sadyang nakakabighani siya. At kakaibang-kakaiba siya sa lahat.” The fondness in his voice from when he spoke before returned in full force. But for some reasons, there was that longing at the end.
“Talaga bang bolero ka, o talagang magaling ka sa iyong mga salita?” she said; but when she saw a painfully wistful smile tracing his lips, she wished that she didn’t bring up the question at all.
One morning, she caught her own reflection in the mirror as she brushed down her hair.
“Talaga bang walang pag-asa?” she said, bitterly gazing at a loose strand of her hair just by the back of her ear that curled a little when the rest of her hair was smoothened down until the small of her back.
She had asked her mother about it one day, about the reason why that respective part of her hair never lengthened, and all her mother could tell her was that it had always been like that. She always thought of it as some hair that with a good cut would allow it to lengthen another time; but it didn’t. Not to mention as well how come it was naturally flecked as grayish white against her natural dark brown hair, that whenever she had it colored, few weeks later and the color fades. She then considered it to be some mark.
Either way, it still eluded her. But, of course, no one had to see it or even know about it—this was her little secret to keep. The very reason why she always pin that respective lock of hair to blend too well with the rest of her hair.
“Kung di mo naririnig, pero kanina pa katok ng katok yung lalaking nakaitim sa labas. Sabi niya na kailangan niyo na daw umalis.” Goyo’s head popped through the wall, not even bothering to look ashamed at his intrusion.
“Hoy! Sabi ko di ba ‘wag ka basta-bastang papasok dito? At bodyguard and driver ko iyon, okay?” She quickly scrambled her hair to hide that weird hair strand of hers, but it was too late. His eyes didn’t miss that odd one.
“Bakit ganyan yung buhok mo na iyon?” he asked with a voice more solemn than she’d ever heard it.
“Yung ano?”
“Yung maiksi na puting buhok sa may tenga. Bakit may ganoon ka?”
“Pinanganak ako na ganoon. Wala rin akong ideya kung bakit ganoon, o ano mang kondisyon iyon. Ganoon na daw talaga since—” She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw him.
Goyo was crying.
She didn’t even know it was possible for ghosts to shed any tears at all. Yet, here he was. His expression utterly heartbroken and miserable. His usual haughtiness was gone, and for the first time, he truly looked like what he was—a lonely, broken spirit burdened with grief that no one, not even she, could ever hope to understand.
“Goyo...?”
He reached out to move away a few strands of her hair just to see that weird hair strand of hers again, and she would have flinched if not for how gentle his hand was. His fingers stopped before he could even reached her, and she swore she felt goosebumps at that close interaction.
“May... may naalala ka ba, Goyo?” she asked him tentatively.
“Na...” He was choking on his words. “Napaka-tanga ko talaga...”
He said nothing further, and she chose not to prod any deeper. The plain sight of him sobbing made tears well up in her, too. There was an indescribable pain coming from the pit of her stomach, and she couldn’t hold back the sobs that escaped her.
She learned that he wasn’t the only one missing something. Even she was missing something. She had a jagged and broken piece in her that never found its lost counterpart. Suddenly, she remembered all those nights long ago when she’d woke up with tears, weeping for reasons she could never seem to decipher. No matter how much she tried to remember, the only remnants of her sorrow were fading glimpses of red and white. She felt empty for so long, and the longest when she saw him.
Bakit nasasaktan ako kapag nakikita kita?
Her cheeks were dried with yesterday’s tears when she woke up the next day. Her heart was heavy, and she dreamt of the same red and white she hadn’t seen since her childhood. This time, though, they were clear enough to be remembered. She knew just what those colors proudly meant—the blossoming red rose and the white lilies for the dead. The great spurn of an eagle, the blanket of stars in which they’ve chosen one for them alone, and that day she allowed him to cut a strand of her hair just by her ear for him to token close to his heart.
Only one person could ever stir up the loneliness she’d kept hidden deep in her soul for so long.
“Goyong,” she whispered in the silence. She looked around her bedroom to find Goyo—Goyong—but there wasn’t a trace of him anywhere. She checked the living room, but he wasn’t there either. She shouted, expecting a response, “Goyong!”
No response.
She was insane. A fool. Stupid.
In all her jitters, she knocked out her diary from the table wherien a latest picture dropped from its pages. Written below had been the marker of a trip to Ilocos Sur. And the view behind that portrait of hers even featured the statue of the valiant young hero astride his horse.
She scrambled to take the photo, kneeling down on the ground as she wept for all the things she could never say—and all the things she’d never be able to say anymore. Her regrets of moving on, leaving him alone, and everything else.
He never returned to her apartment after that.
The only logical conclusion she could came up with was that: he’d moved on already. However, she still hope that he’d come back.
But he never did. Days turned to weeks, then to months. She was all alone again.
The first few days, she was lost. Always daydreaming and staring right ahead. The day after he left, she asked her driver to take her to Tirad before even telling her father that she won’t be going to work for the next few days. She just felt it an obligation for her to do so, that once she made it to the spot that was said to be where he had died, she felt emptier before hesitantly needing to go down another time, and finally accept the truth of moving on. She just felt that if she do what she had done before meeting his ghost, he’ll appear again. But this time, he didn’t.
Slowly, she tried, indeed, to move on. Her life slowly returned back on track. Despite how weird and heavy the action must be, she learned how to cope up. But there were still nights that she would still wish that it didn’t end that way. But life went on for the world, and so, she must as well went along with the flow.
She remained close with her siblings during their family business’s anniversary ball. Being one of the leading and successful airlines, their family was surely skyrocketing. Everyone was invited. From the stockholders, to business partners, to their best pilots and flight attendants. And when the music shifted to something slow, and the guests brought their respective partners onto the floor for a dance, she couldn’t help but feel the longing. A memory from a far away past life rising another time.
“Can I have this dance, Ms. Nable José?”
Only one voice could sound gentle as that. She thought that she was just deluding, but screw the world, for she missed it more than anything.
Turning to look at him, she saw him standing there, proud and tall with a gentle smile on his face and a hand offered on her direction. He appeared pristine on his white uniform with four bars denoting his achievements and rank. Alive.
She smiled in turn, placing her hand above his. She remembered to mock him one time, perhaps, in the future, that he had lowered his rank, but he had soared high for what he truly envisioned himself to be.
And finally home.
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Repent (A “GOYO: Ang Batang Heneral” one-shot)
Goyo, at his death, knew that he was a monster for all the wrong things he had done. If he could do something against it, surely he already done so... and he was given the chance to make peace of it. Finally accepting the truth that he was much less than a human to be heralded as a hero.
They said that the life of a person flashes before ones’ eyes just before death. But there were others whose life was so short to even give too much of something to be guilty of. The longer ones’ life was, the more memories to be seen.
It was different for Goyo. Despite his young age, he had seen too much. Enough to be guilty about. Enough to know that he was to expect the ground opening up beneath him and to swallow him whole.
However, what he had seen was so different compared to what he expected after that bullet killed his physical body, forcing his soul to leave that empty and broken shell, seeing for himself how ugly and gore he appeared back then, and be brought to a world too different from what was known of by the living.
As a child, he believed that the deceased souls went there to the Heavens. When he grew up, he had that theory that the dead were those birds who evaded gravity for the magic of flight. But when he joined the revolution, he understood that he could’ve been otherwise dragged to hell.
The whiteness and the vast plain of where he was right now surprised him. He knew his sins and recounted that it would warrant him to suffer for all eternity on hell. But this brightness and warm light appeared like heaven, and it was ironic for him to be here after all he had done. And yet, if this was to be Heaven… where were the angels? The beautiful music of their voices and harps? The glory of them gathered together?
Perhaps, this wasn’t heaven. Goyo knew that he would never be there, so… was this hell? Or was this the boundary line before judgment?
Either way, he was lost.
Goyo dropped to the floor. He sat there, drawing his legs close to his chest like a little child. He rocked on his heels, trying to occupy his thoughts with something else. But the memories of everything he had done, especially the bad ones, remained, drawing tears out of his eyes. After all, he regretted everything.
But it was all too late. There was no other way for him to be sorry for all of it.
“Goyo.”
He immediately snapped his head up upon hearing the voice that called his name. After all, he didn’t expect it to be spoken by that very person standing right in front of him right now. Like him being dressed on just plain and white clothes, the man who appeared right there also does. His tears immediately fell in succession as he knelt on the spot with shaking hands so afraid to touch the man. He mumbled, “Patawad, Manuel. Patawad.” He gulped in hard before continuing, “Tama kang tawagin akong isang aso. Totoo. Isa akong aso. Kasalanan ko ang aming pagkatalo.”
Manuel Bernal crouched right in front of him with a heavy sighed. Goyo didn’t expect him to be here; and he was expectant of an unjustful verdict. But Manuel only told him, “Tumayo ka, Goyo. Hindi ka aso. Isa kang heneral.”
Goyo’s tears came much more in a rush. He shook his head, trying to evade from looking straight into the other’s eyes. “Isa akong asong ulol. Kasalanan ko ito. Hindi ako sundalo.”
Manuel immediately closed his hands around Goyo’s wrist, pulling his hands away from his face and urging him to look straight at the man whom he was greatly sorry to. Goyo was so ashamed of how he looked with those tears but the guilt that swelled in his chest was greater than everything else. Manuel called for him with such urgency on his voice, “Goyong. Makinig ka.”
He bit his lower lip as if that will stop him from crying more and more.
“Binuwis mo ang buhay mo para sa Pilipinas,” Manuel continued with a small smile, placing then a hand onto his shoulder. Clapping him there once, he continued, “Isa kang bayani, Goyo.”
The tears came in a much greater rush this time. Goyo closed his eyes as if that would stop him from crying like a child. He immediately threw his arms around Manuel, hiccuping as he said, “Manuel, patawad! Patawad sa lahat-lahat. Sa lahat-lahat ng aking pagkakamali.”
“Ayos lang iyon, Goyo. Ang mahalaga’y natupad mo ang tungkulin mo bilang isang Pilipino.” Manuel assured him, whispering by his ear. “Isa ka talagang aguila, Goyong.”
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Stolen Lights (A “GOYO: Ang Batang Heneral” one-shot)
Between Goyo and Remedios, there are words that remained forbidden to be said. But both had proven through their actions that there was something between them than what everyone can see. But for Remedios, it was her own undoing that he had broken their unspoken vow when she hadn't even done so.
She felt his calloused hand weaving through her hair first, then a kiss on the crown of her head. She heard him walking out of the small hut, but it was no longer a weird thing for her to be anxious about. She knew that he was usually up early due to his troublesome nightmares that she could somehow managed to quench, enough for the night to be merciful to him; but when daybreak comes, she couldn’t stop him from being the general he was. And so, she knew that he was going to check his troops, ensure the comfort of everyone, and check breakfast for the two of them.
It had been a routine between the two of them since the time that she decided to come with this run to the north from her hometown of Dagupan. She had the idea of how hard it would be since he was originally hesitant at first and would want her to stay and wait for his return. But she has that inkling feeling of doubt and worry whenever they were apart.
The first days, she was worried that his absence in the morning was because something happened. It took her days before getting used to such set-up. She was always assured by his best friend and everyone else that there was nothing to be worried about. Surprisingly, even by the President’s sister, whom she was told to be the general’s former lover.
But that respective morning, she immediately moved out of bed upon hearing Señor Presidente’s plea. She hurriedly went out, seeing for herself the young general dressed on his best uniform, already astride his horse and prepared to leave to the warfront.
When the general saw her, she swore that he looked guilty. He called out in almost a murmur, “Remedios.”
Señor Presidente turned to her, worried. But he didn’t say anything.
“Goyo,” she replied.
There were words that remained forbidden between the two of them. Despite it being very well visible how they intimately treat each other, there were things that were still undone. One from those was the nickname.
“Binibini,” Señor Presidente acknowledged. “Sinasabi ko kay Goyo na ‘wag na tumuloy ng Tirad pagka’t masama ang kutob ko ukol dito.”
She turned to where the young man was. The latter answered, “Pasensya na, Remedios. Pero—”
“Sasama ako,” she interrupted with conviction, walking straight ahead next to the horse. She looked up at the general and without even letting him stopped her, she placed her hand on his hand, saying, “Goyo.”
She knew that he remembered his promise to her father, who was hesitant on allowing her to come. But she was insistent; her convictions unparalleled by that of her family and by the general. In the end, that caused the general to promise that he’ll ensure her safety.
And if he leaves now, how would he be able to keep that promise of his?
Though hesitant, he allowed her to come. Her seated in front of him, the trail to Tirad rendered them silent. Except for a few words of agreement that she would stay where it was safe, and if she found an American drawing closer, she must make a run back to camp for her safety.
She agreed on the uneven terms, and stayed at a nearby cave where when he left her there, her only company was a small fireplace and the whistling silence. She was left to remember his lingering warmth, his touch, his face, his lips. His presence.
When the firing started, she closed her eyes and twined her fingers together into a prayer. She fumbled with the fabric of her saya and stared at the fireplace.
“Pagpasensyahan mo na ako, Remedios,” Goyo told her one night. “Hindi ito yung buhay na gusto kong ibigay sa iyo.”
“Anong klaseng buhay ba ang nararapat sa akin?” asked her.
He smiled at her back then. Sad and guilty. “Buhay na malayo sa labanan. Malayo sa giyera.” He sighed heavily. “Pagkatapos nito… magbibitiw na ako sa tungkulin ko bilang heneral.”
The moment that the firing stopped, her breath caught at her throat. She waited for a few more minutes before deciding to leave the cave to check what was going on. It had been a continuous exchange of gunfire since the sun rose. It was about midday, and she’d been so deep in thought with her prayers.
She trailed the way to where she knew the trenches were, crouching low to keep her away from anyone on sight. She would be scolded if he found her sneaking away. She was knowledgable of the locations since she’d been delivering foods and goods to the soldiers who’ve worked on the trenches a few days ago.
She easily hinted the young general, moving away from his troops with his lieutenant and a soldier in tow. She hurriedly followed them as she kept the rest oblivious of her presence. Just to see him in front of his troops was already different, but to see him up close in a battle… he was truly a legend; no wonder he was heralded as the hero above the clouds. Being this close, the young man was more than her suitor but a soldier—a general—who will not allow his men to die alone.
The young man sighed heavily, looking at the view as he surveyed his troops and the current battlefield. His companions were trying to tell him something, causing her to edge closer in order to hear what it was all about. But she was just a mere few distance away from them already when he stated, turning back to his men, “Tapusin na natin ito.”
And he stopped, surprised upon seeing her there. Both of them were, stunned that they were to see each other. After all, she was asked to remain where it was safe, and she was shocked that fate didn’t allow him to mumble her name for another time before the loud bang echoed and he was already falling.
Both the lieutenant and his soldier noticed her, when she remained frozen on her spot. Horrified. She didn’t scream or even tried to break free when his soldiers tried to lead her back to safety another time. She suddenly felt nothing.
And for the next days, she felt nothing. Just the memory of his bloody face that was once a handsome feature completely disfigured by that shot, and falling to the ground in an instant death. And the tears that were shed without her even knowing.
Three days, surprisingly, came so suddenly. She was on her way back to the site when she insisted to come with Colonel Enriquez. After all, right after the battle, when they returned to camp and the news was deciminated, they were observed together. Both of them destroyed by what happened, and they won’t even talk to anyone; even needing to be guided to do the most mundane of things.
“Malaya na siya, Koronel,” she told him that same night of his death. “Hindi na siya maghihirap doon. Sapagkat, wala ng giyerang kailangan ipaglaban sa langit.”
The hike was easier. And so was finding the abandoned body.
Remedios didn’t know what to do at that time, but as she read on Goyo’s last letter to her, she realized that at that time, she knelt next and cried her eyes out before watching him be buried by sand and rocks with no other proper burial.
Perhaps, there was one thing that she regretted. As per contained on his letter to her. When he broke their own condition. When he called her, “Mahal kong Remedios.”
When such light was stolen, and she was willing to break that promise of announcing such words.
“Mahal kita, Goyong.”
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The Smallest Coffins are the Heaviest (A “GOYO: Ang Batang Heneral” one-shot)
He stayed with him and asked him to go back. But even his presence will not change the flow of destiny—it only made matters way much harder for him to accept. Tirad Pass remained inevitable to happen no matter what. Him being there will not let the bullet curve another direction at all.
Julian was worried since day one. But he was way much more worried right now as his hands closed around his own rifle, aiming at the approaching Americans, and pulling the trigger to keep them alive. Despite being next to his brother and their cousin, and just on Goyo's other side was Vicente... he couldn't help but shudder at the growing fear that was closing around his heart.
Last night, he remembered telling Goyo while the latter was writing an entry on his journal, "Goyong, pwede bang bumalik ka ng Cervantes bukas?"
Goyo frowned at him, stopped and watched him as if he was waiting for him to say that he was joking. Vicente, like the other soldiers, was already fast asleep, and Joven, who've been sitting just two meters close to Goyo around the fire and had been busy writing down entries on his own journal, remained oblivious with what the two of them were whispering about. He replied back, "Anong sinasabi mo, Kuya?"
"Kailangan ka ni Señor Presidente. Paano kapag may mangyari sa iyo?" He gulped in the words to be able to say them.
"Sinasabi mo ba na tumakas ako para sa buhay ko? Na iwan ko ang sinumulan ko rito, Kuya?"
The depression on Julian's face started to be evident as well as the strain on his voice. "Goyong, alam mo na hindi ko kayang makita kang—"
Goyo placed his hand on his, stopping him. "Alam ko, Kuya. Kaya... wala ka dapat ipangamba. Magiging maayos lang ang lahat."
"Goyong..." He looked down on their hands, sensing that the shake on his brother's hands were no longer present. An assurance to him that he was calm and sure, as well as a tight squeeze that was filled with countless unsaid words.
And here they were, fighting side-by-side as they always did. But the lingering notion and fear had been set on a higher bar.
When Goyo moved away for a second, raising a hand of halt, he immediately closed a hand around Goyo's wrist and asked, "Saan ka pupunta?"
"Titignan ko kung kamusta ang iba. Pati ang pagkilos ng mga Amerikano," Goyo answered, already moving as he turned away. He ordered to Vicente, "Bantayan mo ang trintserang ito."
Julian was reluctant to be away from Goyo. He felt something stirring in the wind that made him not want to be far from him. He was instantly following after his younger brother, along with Goyo's lieutenant, the Spanish Carrasco, and another soldier. And for some reasons, Goyo didn't say anything but ordered the remaining troops to continue their fire when the Americans started firing again.
Protektahan mo siya, Julian remembered their parents' reminder to him since Kakarong de Sili. Protektahan niyo ang isa't isa. Wala sa inyo ni Goyong ang dapat mamatay sa giyera na ito.
His hands closed tightly around his rifle another time just as Goyo handed his own rifle to the direction of his lieutenant. The four of them drew nearer to where they kept their last horses—that of the General's and his aidé-de-camp's. And the three of them watched with great curiosity and worry as Goyo made his way close to the edge to see the trenches for himself.
Julian remembered every single moment that he watched his younger brother stood in front of him. Though he was a little jealous of Goyo being the general while he was older and just a colonel; he was still proud of his little brother. After all, he had witnessed first hand how he achieved such deeds, and he was worth of it all. And it was a little unheard of—the older one following the younger one.
Now, he was standing behind his brother as the latter carried on the sight, thinking of a way—a strategy—that will either save or kill them all.
Goyo turned to them with renewed conviction, saying, "Tapusin na natin ito."
Suddenly, they heard the gunshot from behind and above them, causing them to crouch low. And only with just a blink as a separator of events, it turned Julian's world upside down.
Goyo walked closer. Julian blinked. Goyo fell.
Bleeding. A horrible mess of his cheek. New khaki uniform stained red.
"Heneral!" The two shouted, as he screamed at the top of his lungs, "Goyong!"
Another sizzle of a bullet stopped the lieutenant and soldier, but Julian didn't. He threw his rifle and ran as if to catch his brother, but the latter had already dropped to the ground.
"Koronel!" The two called out, intent on pulling him to safety, but another round of bullet pushed them away from where he was, already dragging Goyo's body from where it landed and to the tall grasses that would be enough to serve as cover.
"Goyong..." he mumbled, voice hitching with a sob through gritted teeth. His eyes were blurred with tears. His breathing erratic. His hands shaking with blood, cradling his brother's broken body close to him. "Goyong..."
Putangina. Putangina. Putangina! He cursed himself all over again.
He froze at the moment he felt Goyo's bloody hand shyly touching his cheek; the latter's eyes dropping as he mumbled, "K-Kuya..."
The hand dropped. The eyes closed. The mess remained for him to see. And that was it.
Despite the sound of the concluding battle, all he could hear was a requiem. The color of his world, from the arc of a rainbow, immediately turning gray.
He was older than him. He was supposed to be the one who've died. And yet...
Julian later learned the unsaid words from that squeeze that Goyo had gave him that night before the events at Tirad through his little brother's journal and a two-sentence letter addressed to him.
The simple words that would hunt him forever.
Maraming salamat sa pagiging laging nasa tabi ko, it said. Ngayon naman, hayaan mong samahan kita sa diwa at alaalang aking iniwan, Kuya.
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Acceptance (A “GOYO: Ang Batang Heneral” one-shot)
Two weeks later, the events that happened at Tirad Pass still haunted everyone. All the way from history until the present. For too many, Tirad Pass cost them a young soldier and a hero. For Vicente, however, it had cost him not only a general or a friend; but also a brother.
Vicente was staggering as he trailed the already familiar treck up. It had been cloudy like last time, but it was still undeniably hot; even though he was absentmindedly walking the long road.
Two weeks and his heart couldn't still bear to accept it.
After everything that happened on that fateful day, when he had declared himself to be 'unfit to serve' and was asked to come along with the women and children to surrender to the Americans already to be spared from escaping, all the while that the men were back on the running... Vicente still hoped that it was all just a dream that he would wish to finally wake up from.
But the presence of the empty shells of stray bullets on the dusty soil as he made the trail, and the mark of dry blood here and there, he knew that he was the dream when the rest of the world moved on with reality. The truth hit him hard much more when he came on the spot of where it had just been sand and rocks to mark the unnamed grave.
He stopped, looking down at the spot of where he had buried his general. His best friend. His brother.
He sighed heavily and crouched right in front of the grave. His elbows onto his knees, he looked far ahead as if that will stop the building tears on his eyes.
Vicente remembered their promise to each other. That they'll be celebrating their birthdays with extravagance and flamboyance right after the battle. That they would return to Bulacan together and celebrate Christmas. But who would have thought that he would be celebrating his birthday this way?
"Goyong..." his voice hitched with just that faint call. A sob was threatening to overpower the words he wanted to say. He sighed heavily for another time. "Sinong mag-aakala na hahantong sa ganito ang lahat? Ang bilis ng panahon... dalawang linggo na pero di ko pa rin matanggap ang katotohanan. Alam ko naman na hindi ko pa rin lubos maisip kung bakit."
He sniffed. He roughly and rushly brushed the tears from his eyes as if to stop them from falling.
"Ang dami kong tanong kung bakit..." He bit his lower lip for a second. "Kung bakit naman kasi kailangan maging ganito. Maari naman pala tayong sumuko ng mapayapa sa mga Amerikano. Eh di sana di ka namatay." He hissed. "Eh di sana wala tayo rito ngayon. Na hindi ko pinipilit ang sarili kong tanggapin na wala ka na."
The soft and white fluff of clouds shyly hid the sun, but there wasn't any indication that it was to rain.
And yet, Vicente would wish otherwise. At least, he can make himself believe that the wet on his cheeks were because of the rain and not of his own tears. He gulped in hard. "Tangina naman, oh. Kaarawan ko pa ngayon, hindi ba? Pero pinapaiyak mo ako." He sniffed, closing his eyes as he lowered and shook his head. "Gago... grabe ka naman magpaalala."
Ang tanga mo naman, Enteng, he almost laughed at such a thought. On how his thinking seemed to mirror how would Goyo react if he was right in front of him right now.
"Sabi mo pa naman, sabay na natin ipagdiwang ang kaarawan ko at yung sa iyo. Dahil sabi mo... panigurado tapos na ang labanan sa panahon na iyon," he mumbled before pressing his hands against his eyes. His breathing hitched and his entire frame trembled as he tried to ease himself. "Putangina, Goyong, di mo sinabi na matatapos pala ang labanan dahil hahantong sa ganito ang lahat."
Vicente remembered that time in Dagupan when Goyo screamed that he was to die, and all he had said was to chide. Who would have thought that it would all be some sort of premonition?
"Di ko nga alam kung paano ko haharapin si Julian eh. Nakakahiya na buhay ako... samantalang ipinangako ko na proprotektahan kita." He already fell on his knees, crouching doesn't support much of his weight and his grief. Through gritted teeth, he added, "Tangina... di ko man nagawang panindigan ang pangako ko bilang kanang kamay mo." He punched the ground underneath him in despair. "Baka mas maigi pa na namatay na lang rin ako."
Yes, perhaps it had been better. But what good would it be if he was to be with his general until death?
"Goyong, patawarin mo ako. Napakawala kong kwenta. Wala akong nagawa noong namatay ka. Di naman kasi dapat maging ganito." His hands grasped for the dirt. Sand entering through fingernails that had been filled with filth and blood the last time he had been here to see his general's dead body and be forced to bury him. "Bakit kasi..." He sniffed, shaking his head another time. "Una si kuya; ngayon naman ikaw. Bakit kasi kailangan maging ganito?"
He sat back, drawing his legs close to his chest. His elbows on his knees as he kept a hand pressed against his eyes. He hated crying the most; even though he was alone. It made him feel much worse.
"Bakit ganito? Diyos ko, bakit?!" He pressed his other palm against his eye. Tears pouring out of his eyes, just as the blood on his wounded knuckles started to trickle. "Ang sakit... Ang sakit-sakit. Maligayang kaarawan sa akin, ano? Tangina..."
A few seconds later, he heard the flutter of wings and claws screeched against the stones. Vicente looked up, pulling his hand away from his tear-stricken face and stared at the bird—the eagle—that stood right there, watching him curiously with those predatory eyes. And for some reasons, the supposed-to-be vicious bird only stayed there, waiting.
Goyong? He wondered as he slowly pulled himself to reach out a hand to where the eagle was, but the bird suddenly screeched and flapped its wings, leaving him right away as it flew low in circles.
Vicente remembered that until the end of Goyo's life, the latter had lived the life of being an eagle. And truly, he slowly accepted it that his friend was now one with the clouds.
He smiled bitterly as he looked up at the sky wherein the clouds were starting to partway again to show the golden rays of the sun and the eagle still on its flight, and hear the whisper of a familiar voice be carried by the wind. He bit his lower lip for a second before saying, "Maraming salamat din sa lahat, Heneral."
The eagle screeched another time as if it responded back at him, made another round, and finally flew a much higher altitude and headed somewhere else until light shone much greatly and Vicente could no longer point out where it was.
Oo, hanggang dumating ang araw na iyon... Magkikita ulit tayo. Pero sa ngayon...
Paalam, Goyong.
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Last Nightmare (A “GOYO: Ang Batang Heneral” one-shot)
Nightmares were no longer a new thing for Goyo to be haunted of. Ever since Kakarong de Sili, for almost three years, he lived each day and night fighting those monsters of his mind. However, there was something that he couldn't fight; after all, he was willing to give up.
There were whispers which continued on its haunting. Most of them were taunting him, depressing him, and muting his senses. And in most cases, he couldn’t ignore them. Especially when he so much needed the sleep, and they were there to drag him in the waking world.
He opened his eyes. His breathing erratic. His entire body sweaty and shaking. He was wide awake despite his lack of sleep. He felt physically weak and tired, but his mind screamed otherwise.
He closed his eyes again, but doing so made the dreams appear once more. He rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes and sighed heavily, gulping in the guilt of his conscience. He pushed himself away from his bed and staggered as quietly as he could to the adjacent room where his older brother was sleeping.
He bit his lower lip before daring to shake his brother awake. He called in a desperate and hushed whisper, “Kuya.”
His brother made a small groan, causing him to shake the previous much forcefully and to finally wake up. With a sleepy voice, Julian mumbled, “Goyong?”
When they were kids, it had been their mother who would ensure that he would be back to sleep after a nightmare. When they became part of the revolution, the brothers all have themselves to depend on. And since that time, his nightmares started to worsen, and Goyo was ashamed that he was troubled by those dreams when Julian hadn’t even shown a hint of being affected.
“Bakit, Goyong?” Julian asked him, immediately filling the shoes of the older brother incredibly worried of his younger brother; than a colonel to his general.
He bit his lower lip and shook his head, sitting on the bed next to his brother. “Wala naman, Kuya.”
He closed his eyes and sighed heavily, hearing then the voice that had been going on his head right at this moment.
Walang liligtas sa iyo. Tapusin mo na talaga ito.
He closed his hands into tight fists until he felt Julian’s hand closing over his. He slowly relaxed and opened his eyes, looking on at his brother’s assuring face.
“Nandito lang ako, Goyong,” Julian told him. “Alam mo naman na maasahan mo ako sa kahit ano pa man. Sino pa ba ang mag-aalaga sa atin kundi ang isa’t isa?”
He sighed heavily again, looking away. He pressed a closed fist against his temple as he drew his legs closed to his chest by his other arm. “Nakakapagod na kasi, Kuya. Ang hirap na. Gusto ko na matapos ‘tong lahat.”
Julian didn’t seem to realize the duality of his words. That’s why, his brother told him, “Goyong… naalala mo ang sinabi dati sa atin nila itay at inay? Kung anuman ang ating napagdesisyunang simulan, siguraduhin natin na tatapusin din natin ito. Hindi man sila payag sa ating desisyon na sumama sa himagsikan, alalahanin natin na walang mas hihigit pa kundi ang lumaban sa prinsipyo na pinaniniwalaan natin.”
Prinsipyo nga ba o maging alipin? His mind questioned him. Those whispers that had been his own conscience making him squirm and guilty. Ang prinsipyo mong sumunod sa isang taong binigyan ang sarili ng mas mataas na pangangailangan kesa ang Pilipinas.
“Goyong naman,” Julian mumbled as he reached out to wipe away the tears from his eyes—tears that he didn’t realized at all. “Bakit ba? Panaginip na naman, ano? Papagalitan ako ni inay kapag ganyan ka.”
He pressed his hands onto his eyes this time, lowering his head as if that would stop his tears. But they came in a rush beyond his control.
He wanted to tell his brother, Kuya, ayoko na. Pagod na pagod na ako. Hindi ko na mailigtas ang sarili ko. Tama si Manuel. Aso lamang ako. Wala akong ibang hinangad sa buhay. Wala akong karapatan na makitang malaya ang Pilipinas. Dahil wala naman akong ginawa kundi iangat ang sarili ko. Hindi ko na kaya. Hirap na hirap na ako.
He could imagine Manuel mocking and laughing at him again. There, on the after-life, he was certainly being gossiped for every flaw he had done. And his call for Death would just be merciful unless he was placed on the treshold of pushing himself to do tell the end.
His brother moved away from the bed and moved closer to him. He was drawn in his brother’s arms to comfort him. But even words of assurance weren’t enough when the words were screamed right from the inside of his head.
“Magiging maayos lang ang lahat, Goyong,” Julian whispered to his ear. “Magiging maayos lang ang lahat.”
He wanted to believe. He wanted to hope, dream and wish. He wanted to pray—that everything will just be alright. But a part of his brain kept reminding him that he was at the edge of the cliff of his conscience. That he couldn’t win against that dark forces telling him to finally call an end to all of it.
Every battle he had participated; every close calls with death; every fight for survival... all of it will always be part of his nightmare. He might have survived every now and then... had been lucky when so many had perished... it continued haunting him. He couldn’t sleep with all those haunting memories. Every event of his life that slowly plucked a portion of his sanity away from him.
A long list that he never had the courage to share to anyone, even to his own brother.
Bata, bata… sa tingin mo ba’y mabubura ng iyong mga luha ang dumi ng iyong konsensiya at ang iyong mga kasalanan?
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Falling (A “GOYO: Ang Batang Heneral” one-shot)
Among the sixty men who've come with General del Pilar during his last stand at Tirad Pass, only eight of them managed to survive. And his best friend and aidé-de-camp, Colonel Vicente Enriquez was one of them. Vicente knew that the reason he lived was to tell the tale. But it took him ten realizations before he finally snapped back to reality, and accept the truth.
The counting undoubtly started with ten...
There was the eerie howl in the wind when he first saw his friend walked away, leaving everything behind for him to watch out for.
He was losing hope. He knew that this was a lost battle ever since he saw those Americans with their rifles raised and aimed at them. It had been visible that their enemies' armaments were way superior to those of them, but there was no turning back now at this moment.
Then, it dropped to nine...
He watched the lieutenant and a soldier followed. He has every urge to come along, but he knew too well where he was needed. And it was here that he must remain.
A finger hooked on the trigger as his hands held his own rifle tightly made him shiver and woke up that even though this would be a lost battle, the strategic victory would be theirs as the main objective of this last stand of theirs wasn't to save their skin, but to protect other people.
The lucky eight who lived to tell the tale.
He knew that whosoever lived their lives in war will see themselves staring at the end of that respective line. Those who held a sword will meet the same end. But all he does was to save the innocent and fight for this land he loved.
Someone tapped him by the shoulder, causing him to turn to the pale-faced lieutenant.
It started just thirty minutes before seven.
A whisper on his ear that echoed after it was said. Like some atomic bomb that was dropped, causing too many others to murmur and gossip about.
His entire world stopped. Every strength and courage he has left his body. He leaned against the fortified wall as his hands shook in keeping a great hold of his rifle.
Tangina naman, he cursed to himself.
And the number they had that was once six decad.
Soldiers scrambled upon having the conclusion of the lieutenant being present and the soldier back on their field. They scattered, running like some wild animals wanting to save their own skins from the predators that were closing around them.
His eyes flared in anger as he took his revolver and aimed it at those who dared to flee. He screamed, desperate, as if that would make everyone stop and snap back to fight another time. Even he was just making a fool of himself.
When his own hand was shaking and his finger was so hesitant on pulling the trigger, he knew that whatever morale was lost.
Just five hours since the clock started ticking.
He remembered their childhood.
Being neighbors, he looked up at him just as how they became playmates. He considered him as an older brother just as how he had his own.
But when things turned under way, and he was asked, "Paano namatay si Etong? Para alam ko kung paano ang mamatay para sa bayan.", he knew that such fates were already tied and predetermined before everything else.
Two decades and a four ended it all.
When among all else who could've been chosen, he was appointed as the aidé-de-camp. It was a great honor that swelled his heart.
He looked up at that beacon of light and hope among the youth. And he would always smile at how great that ray of gold was.
How affectionate his name was said every now and then. It had been the absolute proof of how much trust was thrusted onto him.
The three sites where the trenches had been made.
He grumbled as he walked away that night, "Alam ko rin ang putok ng baril."
Perhaps he was just too blinded not to see it right away, but now, he does. He has his own limitations, but this was what he considered as the tipping point.
Even compensations could've been made. He was still willing to do everything for him. Even the fight to death. That was why he had carefully chosen their men, despite asking for who were with them.
"Pare-pareho tayong naghirap papunta dito ni wala isang tinubuan sa inyo ng bayag?" he inquired, and with it all, he was proud to say that there had been men who would match the two of them who were so willing to do everything for their country.
At that moment, despite the fear, he was happy to make him proud.
Two who've witnesed it themselves.
And yet... at the time that he was most needed... he wasn't there to be his guard.
His hands brushed through his cold body, him doing so just to close his lifeless eyes looking at the expanse of nothingness. The warmth of where a smile would be was just a mush of blood and exploded muscles and bones. But all that remained was a body that he buried himself.
He closed his eyes tightly, breathed in as if to calm himself, and his hands closed to tight fists. Silence ensued so loudly inside his skull with signs telling him that it was all over; and there was another day to fight for it.
He can't help wondering if it was acceptable to finally allow him to break loose from the chains of the world. Perhaps there was freedom with death, and it had given his friend the independence that could be compared to that of a mighty bird.
It might be the end for the two of them—endpoints so different from the other—but they were still in war.
And when you were in war, they said that there was no time for grief, for any mourning, and for regrets. That the dead stayed dead. That peace could be won in the contrast of killing to survive.
They said, on a battlefield... the heart stopped feeling, and the mind stopped remembering.
One tragedy that wasn't supposed to be.
"Enteng... salamat."
Zero.
They were wrong.
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But I never sleep, gotta bury me six feet deep where the sun don’t shine (A “GOYO: Ang Batang Heneral” one-shot)
We all know that for some time, the soul of a recently departed remained at this same plane; until their souls were at peace over something. For Goyo, the only way for his soul to leave the realm of the living was to be buried at least. To finally sleep. Six feet deep. Where the sun don't shine.
When the bullet hit him, for some reasons, he was expectant of the pain. Of course, it was normal, usual, a given. However, the agony didn't last long. Perhaps, he was too much dead already to feel a much longer pain; not even feeling the fall to the ground, or hear the silence that ensued, or see what happened next.
It had been a quick death, at least. Compared to many others he had known—Etong cornered to death at San Rafael; Maestrong Sebio surrendered by his men at the fall of the Kakarong de Sili Republic; another young general falling in defense of Cavite; Supremo's untimely death; General Luna's end at Cabanutuan; and too many others—some whose death were his own fault.
He was actually expectant that he'll be waking up the next time right in front of the gates of hell. At least, he knew where he was actually heading. And it wasn't a paradise at all in comparison to heaven. He knew that Saint Peter won't be calling his name. But, somehow, he was hoping to wake up somewhere else than the gruesome reality that hit him.
But he remained there. He opened his eyes, watching with great wonder why American soldiers closed around him. He knew that he was dead, for he shouted with all his might and nothing happened. He watched with great horror as they stripped him out of his uniform, his boots, his satchel, his hat, his medallions—everything—leaving him on his undergarment alone.
They didn't looked back after that. Not even caring to do something to honor the dead. But why would they?
The moment that the first shot was fired at Tirad, it was evident who were the preys. Being the general, he was the best catch of the game. He was the lead prey, and what do predators or hunters do when they hit their intentions? They took all of its worth and left it for others to find.
He was no longer the heralded hero. At that moment, on his death, he realized that he was just a small particle of the world. That on his death, the world would still continue living. Years later on, he would be forgotten, and his life would just be fleeing in the memory of those who truly wished to remember him.
But, for him, at this moment, he was just the Gregorio del Pilar from Bulacan, who was meant for too much greatness in life, but decided to die in order to allow others the chance to live.
Ang kayamanan ng buhay, kahit di man magagawang mapalitan, ay di mabibigyan ng halaga kung hindi dahil sa kamatayan, he thought. Lahat naman ng tao ay namamatay, may nauuna lamang.
At least, as a soul, he managed to move away from the bloody mess of where the bullet hit him. Entering by his nape and exiting his cheek with a blast. It destroyed his face, filling him with great horror. He couldn't stomach looking at himself that way—cheek blown away, blood oozing at the brutal wound, eyes no longer bearing the spark of life, his body abandoned for someone else to feed on.
Crows circle overhead, weary of taking their part. But even if he shooed them away, he wouldn't be able to do anything. Seeing too many deaths, he already knew what happened to a corpse exposed to the air. The rigor mortis, the smell, and the decomposition.
Sana ligtas lang si Enteng, he said to himself after a few hours of his death.
Ano kaya ang naging reaksyon ni Señor Presidente noong nalaman niya? He inquires after twelve hours.
Pasensya na, Kuya. His regrets settled heavily on him the next day.
Tadhana ko ba na manatili rito? He challenged on the second day.
On the third day, he finally saw someone other than his degrading corpse left there and the view of Tirad. All he had done for the past days were to conceptualize, inquire and repent, even if it was too late. For on that third day, there arrived Vicente and Lieutenant Carrasco.
Both of them appeared lost and broken. They were silent at first, stopping upon seeing his body right there, and without other words after a minute of silence, the two reluctantly do the job that Goyo had been waiting for.
But the moment that the two finished excavating at least a pit, his body being placed onto the spot, and they started covering his unusual grave with rocks and sand, Goyo felt something weird.
He looked down on his feet first, seeing them slowly disappearing. His hands followed as he watched his own self dissipating. He turned one last time to where Vicente and Carrasco were, still on the process of burying him with cold and distant eyes. Still grieving; not for the lost battle, but for the loss of a friend and a general. For him.
He murmured something in the wind as a sad smile crossed his face as he looked up at the otherwise cloudy sky with an eagle flying overhead.
A few seconds later, he completely disappeared.
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Interrupted [A “GOYO: Ang Batang Heneral” one-shot]
"Kapag nagkita kayo ni Julian..." It was the last time that Julian del Pilar was mentioned by Goyo before he was abruptly interrupted from saying the rest to his aidé-de-camp, Vicente Enriquez. What was he actually supposed to say at that time if he was given the chance to continue?
Goyo was troubled by last night. He would be lying if he would say that he had a good night sleep, when it had been so visible with just a look how exhausted he was. The dark circles underneath his eyes were prominent, just as how the stance he carried himself showed as if he was carrying the entire world on his shoulders. Walking seems to be both a remedy and a curse—remedy that he could put that tiredness towards something else, and curse for the silence that lingered on with the truth of everything that was currently happening.
He heard Vicente sighing heavily next to him, a parallel call of fatigue like that of his.
“Hindi naman siguro tayo aabutin ng pasko dito, ano?” Vicente told him with an audible hint of depression. “Kating-kati na ‘ko umuwi ng Bulacan.”
Bulacan… he pondered. His heart tightened when the place that had been closest to his life was mentioned.
Vicente elbowed him by the side to snap him back to attention. “Hoy… di ka uuwi sa Bulacan?”
He stopped walking, bit his lower lip and sighed heavily before facing his aidé-de-camp. “Kapag nagkita kayo ni Julian…”
Sabihin mo na naging maayos lang ang lahat, he thought. Sabihin mo na pag-pasensyahan niya na di ko magagawang tuparin ang pangako naming pag-kikita muli. Sabihin mo na lagi siyang mag-iingat, pati din ang aming mga magulang at mga kapatid. Sabihin mo na nawa’y bumalik ang dati niyang ligaya at kisig tulad ng dati kung ako ma’y mawala. Sabihin mo na sana’y maipagmalaki niya ako bilang nakakabata niyang kapatid; bilang sundalo na inialay ang buhay para sa kanyang pagmamahal sa bayang ito. Sabihin mo na nagpapasalamat ako sa lahat-lahat ng kanyang suporta. Sabihin mo na naisin ko man makita siya muli, ay hindi ko na magagawa pa. Sabihin mo na ‘wag niya sisihin ang sarili niya sa anumang mangyayari. Sabihin mo na… mahal ko siya, aking kapatid, at ‘di ko sinasadyang humantong sa ganito ang lahat.
He closed his eyes for a moment to begin a new.
Sabihin mo na patawarin niya ako.
He sighed heavily again and opened his mouth. But before words could even make it out of him, they heard Señor Presidente screaming and their own soldiers fighting one another, that led the two of them to run towards the chaos.
It only later transpired to him that he has too many words to say that couldn’t be said in a second. And that he wasn’t even able to say anything at all.
It was only after Tirad Pass and when he finally met Julian that Vicente remembered that Goyo wasn’t able to say what he wanted to tell his brother in any case.
“Julian…” he called softly, a tear trickling down his eyes silently, remembering the pain. “Nabanggit ka niya sa akin. Sabi niya…” His voice grew almost inaudible. “Sabi ni Goyong sa akin na, ‘Kapag nagkita kayo ni Julian…’”
The tears were falling now in great succession.
“Yun yung huli niyang sinabi tungkol sa ‘yo.” Vicente tried to keep himself from sobbing, but emotions overruled him. “Yun na yun. Hindi niya na nagawa pang ipagpatuloy.” He said, no longer trailing since there were no words after that, “‘Kapag nagkita kayo ni Julian.’”
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Advanced (A “GOYO: Ang Batang Heneral” one-shot)
Running away had never been the best course of action; nor it had been the first resort to head on to. Miong was at fault with too many things. But there was one thing that he was so guilty that even his birthday (March 22) was tainted with an overload of regrets.
It was the thirteenth day of the eleventh month of 1899 when all hell broke loose. People back then were superstitious of the number, just as how he was raised to believe. But November 13 of that year was a Monday, and it had just been part of the successive fall-outs of the Republic they’ve built.
It was just like a few days ago that he received a letter of report that there was nothing to be worried about; but Tarlac still had fallen. And the next target was Dagupan. Though he had sent a letter to the Boy General there, saying that he must remember what his Tio Selong always said, it doesn’t seem to sink in quite properly to him.
That was why they were in the running. Now.
Who would know that the events of peace could just be taken with just a simple snap? And it had been too well that he had delivered such a greeting before all these hardships, because it had been too late at the time that he had a sense of how fast the days had been.
Miong looked back for a second to the remaining group that he has. The exhaustion and stress had been visible, especially to the trailing soldiers who’ve been part of the Brigada del Pilar. The despair on them was also evident. It was a good thing that the women had been spared, and all he could see right now were soldiers from Bulacan and Manila.
Today was his thirty-first birthday, and no one anticipated that they were to celebrate this occasion on this fashion. After all, Christmas came and went with them still on the run.
He remembered General del Pilar smiling vibrantly and proudly when the latter received him during his visit once at Dagupan. The Boy General was so pure of life and he would say that it was a good thing that he had grabbed the opportunity when it had presented itself back then.
He was a little faint-hearted when he heard about the short-lived romance between his general and his sister. It had been decided already by fate that there wasn’t any chance; and he knew upon seeing the Boy General that the latter was madly in love with the daughter of Don Nable José. The celebration had proven that; such intimate of a dance, the small talks, the stolen smiles, and the lingering eye contacts.
Miong sighed heavily and asked one of the nearby soldiers the moment that their company had decided to rest for a second, “Bakit sinusunod niyo pa rin ako? Lalo na ngayon na wala akong ibang magawa para sa inyo kundi idamay kayo sa pagtakas?”
The soldier froze, blinking away tears of memory. “Para kay Heneral.”
He closed his eyes as if to break away from the harsh truth that they’ve been running from. He suddenly remembered everything about the late general, especially the last happy moments.
He remember pulling the general from the great festivity for a second and said his greeting; which surprised the young man.
Dr. Barcelona stood from the circle of gathered soldiers, raising his glass for a toast. He remarked, “Para sa mga sundalo ng Bulacan… para sa katapangan ni Heneral Gregorio del Pilar…”
Miong reluctantly raised his own glass. Guilty as charged.
“Sa kanyang kabayanihan at sakripisyo sa Pasong Tirad para sa Presidente ng Republika,” continued the doctor, turning to face him then. “Maligayang kaarawan, Señor Presidente.”
He nodded before finally finishing his own drink. But afterward, when he trailed his eyes on the soldiers… he noticed all of them weeping. Most of then mumbling their grief upon opening old wounds.
“Señor Presidente,” the Boy General called, a little surprised of what was going on.
“Maligayang kaarawan, Goyong,” he greeted out of the blue.
The Boy General was taken aback before smiling of great relief after a few seconds. “Maraming salamat, Señor Presidente.”
Who would have thought that it would be the last great memory of happiness? Who would have thought that it would be the start of his own condemnation of sins?
There’s only two possibilities about life—it’s either you die as a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.
Emilio Aguinaldo carried the guilt of Gregorio del Pilar’s death for the next sixty-three years of his life.
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Horizon (A “GOYO: Ang Batang Heneral” one-shot)
There were countless of reports about the true events of the Last Stand at Tirad Pass, and most of them don't agree with one another except for the fact that a hero had died there. And history was written by the survivors."What happened in Tirad, stayed in Tirad." That would be the case if he wasn't the Boy General, or the Gregorio del Pilar who've died there. But he was, and Death was just waiting. For far too long.
He knew that he was the great eagle of the revolution. But he always asked himself if he had been that great all along. He was only known as “Aguila” for it was his chosen nom de guerre. He was only known because his uncle was a propagandist, and he had stood up to liberate his home province. There were so little he had done, and he was so young.
So young to be a general. And yet… he was one.
He felt inferior in the presence of American generals. Felt so small in a room filled with officials way much older than him.
But in the presence of his men… when Señor Presidente was there, he felt superior. He was serving the president of the Republic, and he was the latter’s closest confidant. He was above compared to many others.
He was the hero of Bulacan living right above the clouds.
When angels fell from the earth
Does the drop from such height hurt?
“Kuya!”
The scream and the echo of the gunshot made him stop for a second. His hands around his cap and the hilt of his sword tightened that his knuckles turned white. And then, he shuddered.
A whisper followed him. A haunting one that seemed to remain so closely next to him. Like a shadow that came along everywhere he went; with a voice that had been awfully scary to taunt him whenever he was usually alone and had been in doubt of his own actions.
Takbo. Takbo. Takbo. Sadyang duwag ka.
He shook his head, telling himself, Hindi ako duwag. Ginawa ko kung ano ang tama.
Someone chuckled at him, echoing inside his mind.
Alam mo ba kung ano ang bulong ng konsensiya?
He shivered at the idea that someone was meant to put all the guilt on him. He knew deep down that he was just following orders, but a part of him was so sure as well that what he had done was wrong.
Snip. Walang sisihan, Goyo.
It was evident with that deep frown he has, and that shaking hands of his. The wind blowing wasn’t just cold, but the voices it had been whispering were enough to make him wish to hide in fear.
Like the call of Death.
Informing him of an appointment.
Or was the ripping of wings
Left the scar that always stings?
It could’ve just been pure luck. Or perhaps death had been glaring at him, shaking his head, and saying, “Hindi pa ngayon.”
Or maybe, upon seeing Death, he had been too shocked to think that it had been the end of his time. And Death was also equally surprised to see him there. Perhaps, if he had asked Death back then, he would explain his plea as “Laking gulat ko rin na makita ka sa ilog doon sa Dagupan. Sapagkat alam ko na magkikita tayo sa susunod pang mga linggo. Sa Tirad.”
But no one had seen Death or even confronted him. It was his own delusional mind that had been conjuring those images.
It was his own guilt and fear. It was his own shame. His own failure and assumption. That made those images.
“Kuya, mamamatay ako!” He screamed as the tears fell from his gentle eyes. He was as white as sheet; just as how he had seen Death from the other side of the looking glass.
He knew, despite all the assurances and contradictions of his mind and of other people, that Death was waiting for him.
Makinig ka, Goyo, Death haunted him. Magkita tayo sa Tirad, Goyo. Sa Tirad.
That Death would be coming soon.
When swords slashed through tender skins
Does the vicious villain grins?
“Tandaan mo kung sino ka,” Julian would always remind him. “Lahat ng tao tinitingala ka. Ikaw ang aguila. Bayaning Bulakenyo. Dugong magiting.”
Once, he would say, he felt exactly that. He was proud of all those accomplishment of his. He was superior among any other that with how young he was, he managed to do something unordinary. Something so far from being possible.
For him, it was Julian who’ve always guided him when he was lost. Whenever his Kuya was there next to him, he knew that he was safe and right. He knew that there was no reason for him to doubt himself. And when they were together, the whispers were silent.
Vicente, however, he was there as his best friend and his aidé-de-camp. He could depend his life and the rest of the brigade to him. He knew that Vicente looked up at him as an older brother, believing that he was guided by Anacleto. And when they were together, he knew that he could be that general brother whom Vicente had lost.
Somehow, the mumblings were just a frequency audible.
But… there were moments that even though they were nearby, they won’t stop from winning against him.
“Goyong!” Shouted his brother, pulling him away.
The depression within himself made him understand how close he was to losing his precious sanity.
“Sino ka?” Julian inquired as loud as he could to make him snap back.
Words must not travel about how he was acting now. He replied sharply, as if he was also telling himself that he must believe on his words, “Aguila!”
And they were making him turn away—run away—from his own obligations and commitments.
“Goyong, nagbago ka na…” Felicidad told him once. “Dun pa lang sa Dagupan, hindi kita halos makilala… Natatandaan ko kung sino ka… yung Goyong nakilala ko. Isa siyang sundalo.”
The whispers were louder back at that time. Perhaps it was because his brother was too far away to quench those haunting words, or it was meant to be for him to simply brush away his best friend’s concern of their safety.
But… maybe, it was because the wind was muttering the truth.
That he had changed, and he no longer knew who he really was.
Or was the blood that trickled
Call forth danger as signaled?
“Gusto kong sumandal sa bisig ng isang lalaking alam ang kanyang hangganan, ‘pagkat natupad niya na ang tungkulin niya sa bayan.”
Remedios’s letter was one that could be considered as one of his soul opener. That upon reading, the whispers that had been haunting him for far too long, stopped with their tricks.
He would mockingly laugh if he were to say that the beauty of Tirad was the cause of it, but he knew better that at first glance of its mountainous height… the whispers in the wind became louder. It was just that, he was deafened by it with the removing of his blindfold by the words of his last love.
The calling of Death grew. Or rather, it was Death whose voice remained. The voice that he couldn’t escape from despite all the assurances and so on.
Sa Tirad, Goyo, Death continued haunting him. Makinig ka. Sa Tirad.
He would like to fight back and remark, “Naghihintay si Remedios sa Dagupan. Naghihintay si Kuya sa Bulacan. Naghihintay sila sa akin.”
Then, Death would have the final say. Mabuhay ka. Paparating na ako.
But… was there someone who’ve succeeded to escape Death out of all things?
When both life and death battled
Does the sail of years travelled?
He wouldn’t allow anyone to just be there. He would be with the carefully chosen sixty men to defend the lines there at Pasong Tirad. He already knew what he must do, and that was that.
The flag that had been his own since it was first unfurled upon his promotion remained as a symbol that with that on sight, the Brigada del Pilar was there. And wherever the Brigada del Pilar was, their general was also with them.
If there was that history of relations within the brigade, anyone would say that he was in love with his success. That he would wish to be with his men. That such respect and devotion to his soldiers were proven since that day he had shown them victory and raised his own banner as his distinction.
He watched the campfire for a minute before taking out his journal from his satchel. With his pencil on the other, he knew what was necessary to be written.
Vicente looked at him but didn’t say anything. He bid his goodnight before retiring for the night, and all he had done was to nod in return, eyes still focus on his writing.
A few more tense minutes, he shook his head, ending his entry with the last words that the world would remember out of him. He closed his eyes, at peace with having his words written on paper.
Since the past three years since he joined the revolution, on that night of the first of December 1899, his sleep had been undisturbed.
No nightmares. No whispers. No struggles.
There is no greater sacrifice.
Or was victory still asked
Waiting for light to be basked?
An eagle screeched right above him, causing him to look up at the sky. The clearness of the blue sky with faint hint of cirrus white clouds way above, the soaring eagle was a sight to behold.
Ever since he was a child, he would always look up and admire the view of the freedom right there.
“K-Kuya…” he remembered calling for his brother’s attention when he was a child. “Ang ganda nung ibon na iyon!”
His brother would always laugh, drop a hand on the crown of his head and remark, “Hindi lang iyon basta isang ibon, Goyong.” Julian would pick him up and carry him, continuing with great admiration in parallel to that of his, “Iyon ay isang agila.”
That’s why he didn’t doubt choosing to be called as “Aguila” when he entered the revolution. His great feats and deeds attributed him as such.
Pero bakit parang mali ang lahat? He wondered to himself with great longing. Saan ako nagkulang?
No one answered. Not even the whispers that were carried by the wind. Not even a voice from Death whom he knew was looking at him right now as he felt the stabbing pain of being all alone in these great mountains and be careless above the clouds.
When the bullet ends my life
Does it mock what is deprive?
There was something that he had realized all at once.
He wasn’t an eagle. He wasn’t a hero who’ve been with the clouds. He wasn’t the saviour who’ve descended. He wasn’t the heralded one who’ve followed that right must be above might.
For if he was, he would not feel the longing in learning that Death lingered on.
He turned to his soldiers, who were telling him to stay low, for the American snipers had their eyes and aims on him.
If there was something that must be done, he already knew what that was. And he would not run away from the truth this time.
He would fight for what was just and right. For too many people lost sight with the very fine line of distinction that separated the two with might and power. Too many had fought in this war, trying to avenge the past… for what?
Everybody wants to fight. And those who lived by the sword were forced to die by it. Still, it had always been that way.
Was it because of their principles, or just to be a part of a team? Was it the wicked leaders who’ve led innocent populations to slaugter, or was it wicked populations who chose leaders out of context?
Nandiyan ka ba? Nakasubaybay? He asked. Nakahanda nang sumalubong?
For another casualty of this unending cycle of sorrow was to come sooner rather than later.
Goyo. Death’s voice softened like a lullaby. Paparating na ako.
Dalian mo, he urged just as he said out loud, voice sure and convictions renewed, “Tapusin na natin ito.”
Or was its kiss my saviour
Leading me somewhere freer?
First, there was the silence.
Second, a step forward.
Then, the gunshot.
He froze. His knees buckled underneath him as his entire body felt the quake and shudder and the fear. His hands grasped for the ground underneath him. His throat felt rusty; having the urge to cough the bile taste. Blood dropped to the dusty soil.
His strength slowly leaving him as he tried to break free from that foul taste.
When death told me it is time
Is it alright to decline?
His senses were at lost. His thoughts were scattered. His feelings were jumbled.
Ano ba ang dapat maramdaman?
Tears pricked the back of his eyes and agony pushed his mind to send the message for him to scream. But his body won’t respond, or rather, he wasn’t able to do whatever his brain had sent.
His visions blurred as he saw darkness trailing closer and closer to him. He struggled to fight it back, wishing once again to see the horizon that separated humans to the divinity of clouds; to hear that screech from an eagle.
Yet, the last thing he saw was the great disappointment. And the last thing he heard were the words: “Sabi ko sa ‘yo. Makinig ka. Walang sisihan. Sa Tirad.”
But there is peace in silence
The last of these horizons.
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First Nightmare (A “GOYO: Ang Batang Heneral” one-shot)
Ever since Goyo was born, Julian knew that he would do everything he can in order to ensure that his little brother will have the convenience and happiness that he deserved. He was the one who always reached out a hand when Goyo needs it, and in times of war, they surely only have one another to depend on. Especially when the long-road running of despair finally found Goyo as its victim.
Julian, despite the tiredness of his body, had been fighting off his own fatigue. He knew that there wasn’t any time to grieve, but in the silence and on how they were gathered now, perhaps he could do so at this place. After all, he couldn’t let himself to sleep; now that Goyo was resting.
The del Pilar brothers, whenever they were wary of their safety, depended their lives with each other alone. The very reason that only one could sleep at a time given that someone was to serve as the watch. And being the older one, he volunteered to do so for his younger brother.
He almost lost Goyo, after all. It had been sheer luck that it had just been a graze on the forehead alone. He surely wouldn’t survived it if Goyo had died while he was next to him, or even seeing him dying with his own eyes.
He reached out to brush away the strands of hair that were on his brother’s forehead. The bandage was dirty, but what to expect when both of them had been filled with filth? He looked on at the deep creased of his brother’s brows, the sharpness of his breathing and the sweat.
He frowned in worry, calling tenderly as if to shake the other awake, “Goyong.”
His younger brother immediately woke up, eyes wide and his shaking hand holding close around his wrist in fear. He was white as a sheet as if he had seen a ghost. He was trembling, and it broke his heart how evident it was that the trauma of war was catching up with his brother. He was afraid that it would steal the smile, laughter, and tenderness; just as the innocence was already gone due to the latest war.
It took his brother a few seconds before easing and said, “Kuya…” The grip around his wrist loosened and he watched helplessly as the younger del Pilar pressed his palm against his face as if to hide away. “Di naman ako…”
Julian bit his lower lip. “Umuungol ka kanina. Mukhang isang masamang panaginip. Ayos ka lang ba?”
Goyo pressed his other hand to his face as well. Sighing heavily, he answered, “Sadyang masamang panaginip nga.” He lowered his hands. “Pasensya na, Kuya.”
“Ayos lang, Goyong.” He smiled softly as he shuffled his younger brother’s greasy and rumpled hair. “Tungkol saan ba?”
The younger del Pilar bit his lower lip and lowered his eyes. “Yung digmaan kanina. Paano kung…” He sighed heavily. “Napanaginipan ko… paano kung talagang natamaan ako ng bala?”
Julian shuddered. A million thoughts evaded his mind, but he could only shiver at the mere idea that his younger brother was haunted by that possibility.
“Anong mangyayari?” Goyo continued. “Magagawa ko bang maramdaman iyon? Yung masasaktan ka pa muna bago ka mamatay? Di ba pwede na biglaan na lang at tapos na kaagad kesa maghirap pa? Masakit isipin na may posibilidad siyang mangyari. Tapos, ang masakit pa doon…” He closed his eyes as he sighed. Opening them again, he looked at him, “Ang pinakamasakit pa ay ang makita ko sa panaginip ko… kung paano mo sinisisi ang sarili mo, Kuya.”
“Goyong…” Julian reached out to close his hands around his younger brother’s. “Alam mo na di ko hahayaang mangyari iyon sa iyo habang ako ay nasa tabi mo. Di ko mapapatawad ang sarili ko kapag ganon.”
Julian suddenly remembered his promise to their parents. That he would be with Goyo at all times. That he would do anything for him. That he would steady his aim if he was shaking. That he would lead him back to safety if he was in danger. That he would remind him who he was if he was lost. That he would take the bullet for him if his life must be sacrificed. He promised that he would be that beacon of light—that hand—to guide Goyo home.
“Kuya…” Goyo mumbled.
He reached out to shuffle his younger brother’s hair another time with a small smile. “Matulog ka na nga ulit. Mauubos ang oras mo para magpahinga.”
“Ikaw na, Kuya. Nagising na ako. ‘Di ko alam kung magagawa ko pang makatulog ulit…”
“Babarilin ko yung mga panaginip na iyon kapag lumapit ulit sila. Kaya… pilitin mo na makatulog ulit. Kailangan mo magpahinga.”
Goyo reluctantly laid down again. This time, holding on to his brother’s hand as his life line. After all, that was Julian. His anchor. He smiled softly. “Gisingin mo ako kapag oras mo na para matulog, Kuya.”
“Oo, Goyong,” he assured.
A few seconds later, the younger del Pilar was back to the realm of sleep. This time, calm and steady. The frown no longer present as he continued holding on to his hand.
Julian fought his own fatigue, even until daybreak, giving the rest of the night’s sleep to his beloved younger brother. He leaned closer to press his lips to Goyo’s forehead, mumbling, “Goyong, tandaan mo, laging nandito lang si Kuya.”
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What Happened at San Rafael (A “GOYO: Ang Batang Heneral” one-shot)
Anacleto Enriquez, the Hero of San Rafael, was the man whom Goyo idolized the most; that when he died, Goyo immediately asked Anacleto's brother, Vicente, his soon-to-be aidé-de-camp, how the previous had fallen in order to know how to die for the sake of their country out of that love.
The moment that he saw the Church doors opened, he knew that it would be the end. And he knew that it was meant to be. And that there was no other way. And that he was somehow glad that it was just him here. And that there was no greater honor but to be here fighting.
And that it would all be over in a flash.
The rattle on the church door finally gave in after five hours of hoarding and keeping it shut. After five hours of struggling to remain on guard, keep their lives with them, and think of a way to divert the reality of what was to happen.
But was there any other way?
Before leaving Paombong, he had called his younger brother’s attention, pulling him aside from the group. His action bewildered the latter, causing Vicente to ask him, “Bakit, Kuya?”
He gulped in hard before biting his lower lip and shook his head. He brushed away his hand as if realizing what he had just done. “Wala,” he assured. “Pagod lang ata ito panigurado. May sumagi lang sa isip ko.”
“Ano iyon, Kuya? Nakakakaba ka. Alam mo iyon? Minsan, kung umasta ka, Kuya, para ka ring si Goyong,” Vicente chided with a small chuckle, trying to brighten the mood.
He smiled softly. “Talaga ba? Paano mo naman nasabi?”
Vicente stopped for a second to think, before answering, “Basta, Kuya. Pakiramdam lang rin naman. Na parang halos magkatulad ang inyong tadhana.”
“Kung ganoon, ipaalala mo sa akin ang iyong sinabi para akin ring masabi sa kanya, Enteng,” he said. “Ibig-sabihin rin ba nun ay nakikita mo rin siya bilang iyong kuya?”
The younger Enriquez surrounded an arm of his around his shoulders and laughed a little. “Nagseselos ka ba, Kuya?”
He shook his head with a warm soft smile. “Hindi. Sa katunayan… ako’y nagagalak na malaman na ganoon ang tingin mo kay Goyong.”
Who would have thought that it would be the last time that they’ll be talking? That the two of them will be separated when they were meant to be together?
“Fuego!” He screamed, unsheathing and raising his sword, commanding the soldiers to aim their rifles steady onto the approaching Spanish soldiers whose only itention as well was to kill everybody on sight.
Not even minding if they would be the elderly, women or children. The enemies were just firing aimlessly with the sole intention to leave no survivors.
He also aimed his own gun, managing to fire at least two before being hit by a bullet from the enemy. He was first scraped just by the shoulder. Then, onto his thighs and chest. He fired two others, three others, and four others; too few to the many bullets that had already pierced his skin and organs that caused his uniform to be stained by his own blood.
Enteng, nasaan ka?
His thoughts remained with him than to worry over his own safety and his own men and other people who were either dead or in the verge of dying now as the church’s floor started to pool with blood a few centimeters high.
Sana’y nasa ligtas ka na lugar.
He coughed and choked on his own blood, just as another volley of bullets hit him. His body betrayed his mind and his heart’s will to continue fighting.
But he knew that at that moment, there was no used. And he had already accepted the truth.
That the real details of what happened on that day of his death would be a mystery for the future to just guess exactly the events.
But, at least, despite the future fumbling with the darkness of the past, they would know that he had fought for something that everyone must continue fighting for—the love for our own motherland.
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Ankle-deep (A “GOYO: Ang Batang Heneral” one-shot)
There was a certain person whom Goyo considered to be his greatest inspiration to have the urge of joining the revolution and to fight for his motherland. And he took it as a standard of even sacrificing too much for that ultimate goal of independence. However, when things are starting to go astray, he surely need to remember what really brought him in the middle of all these things in the first place.
If there was something that hated the Boy General when the latter so badly needed it, it would be sleep.
His slumber was always troubled by nightmares. The horror of war had made a trigger point on his head every single time he closed his eyes. He had seen too much blood and death, heard the sound of pains and cannons, smelled the lingering odor of corpses and gun powder, and felt the bitterness of agony with every injury.
All of it contributed too well for him to lose sleep. Or rather, be troubled with just the thought of it. And gave him the pretense of alertness that immediately woke him up just by hearing even the slightest of sounds.
His dreams worsened since he joined the revolution. Eluding his senses much closer to insanity evey single time; too fast just as how he climbed the ranks.
But it all started with just a single thought—a heartbreak and loss—and it had been all of Goyo’s undoing.
He wasn’t there when it happened. He was at Kakarong de Sili at that time. But Vicente was. He asked him upon their meeting how his friend died in order to know how to properly die fighting for their beloved motherland.
It had been his ultimate goal. The one thing that made him understand all too well that he would sacrifice his life one day for the country. And yet, his dreams right now were filled with taunting actions that made him question his own worth.
He opened his eyes, staring at the almost torn ceiling right above him. Wooden slabs were hanging precariously as if they were to fall right above him at any moment. This was a new one; the first time he dreamt of this in comparison to how his dreams had been lately that revolved about what he had witnessed before sleep. This one… he hadn’t.
He was lying on his back. The ground where he was felt warm and sticky. He turned his eyes to the side, seeing right away the piles of corpses around him, and the arching pillars that made him see that he was inside a church.
“Goyong…” someone called his name amidst the dream.
He remained immobile—shocked—with hearing the voice. He was pinned on his position just as how he felt the tears starting to build at the corner of his eyes. Of course, he knew that voice too well.
“Sino ba talaga ang iyong ipinaglalaban?”
He struggled to answer, “Ang bansang Pilipinas.”
“Iniibig mo ba ang bayang ito?”
“Alam mo na ang sagot diyan. Bakit mo pa ako tinatanong?”
“Tahol, Goyo. Tahol,” another man’s voice echoed from a far distance. The mocking bark of a dog growing nearer and nearer.
Goyo closed his eyes.
“Unti-unti ka nang hindi nagiging sundalo, Goyong,” the first man remarked as the other’s voice and the dog’s barking disappeared. “Unti-unti ka nang nabubulag na sumamba sa isang tao, hindi sa prinsipyo na sinasabi mong ipinaglalaban mo.”
“Hindi ba’t pare-pareho lang naman tayo ng ipinaglalaban sa simula’t simula?” Goyo inquired, straining his eyes above him to see the speaker, but he hasn’t found any. “Hindi ba’t ang nais lamang natin ay makitang malaya ang Pilipinas?”
“Kung ganoon, Goyong…” the man continued. His light footsteps caused the ankle-deep red liquid to show a ripple and made a dripping sound as he moved. “…lumaban ka na handang mamatay para sa bansang pareho nating iniibig. Hindi para patuloy na protektahan ang isang tao na parang isang asong sunud-sunuran sa anumang ipakain nito.”
Finally, Goyo saw the face that hovered above him. The familiar face that he had known too well. The tears trickled down his face; making him wonder how he was going to tell his aidé-de-camp all this when he woke up.
“Hindi ka aso, Goyong,” his late best friend remarked, “Ikaw si Aguila…”
Anacleto Enriquez’s name left his lips as he mouthed the words. Just as how Anacleto’s words gave him the power to inquire the same question to the sixty men he was able to spare for this last stand of his. He knew what was coming, and so he knew what must be done.
“Iniibig niyo ba ang bayang ito?” he inquired, receiving a strong and steady response of assurace. “Kung ganon, tanggapin ang anumang kapalarang sasapitin natin sa ngalan ng pag-ibig.”
“Lumaban ka na handang mamatay para sa bansang pareho nating iniibig,” he remembered Anacleto telling him; one that truly made him see the truth of it all.
“Walang mga bayani sa bundok na ito,” he continued. “Tayo’y mga sundalo na puno ng pag-ibig… hindi ng galit.”
Ako si Aguila, he pondered. Patungong langit, Matanglawin.
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